Several hours later, he sat back on his heels and considered his work. The black marble shone, even in the diffuse light of Faerie. The polished surface glittered with inclusions of blue, silver, and gold, casting a magical sparkle on the entire glade.
Conall stood, wiped his hands, and closed his eyes. He spaced his feet apart and leaned against a tree trunk to brace himself for the effort. Today he’d brought the brooch with him so he would have the greater power he needed.
He pulled it from his pouch and unfolded the precious artifact, holding it in his hand so tight the sharp edges bit into the flesh of his hand. A small line of red formed on one finger, blood to seal the magic. An endeavor this large might need such a drastic enhancement.
He quested with his will down from his mind, into his arms, and through his chilled fingers. When it reached the brooch, a scarlet light shone from the red stones, bathing the glade in a sullen sanguine light.
He pulled this power back through the bones of his spine, and into his legs. Further, it twisted, into the earth, into the stones, into the very heart of the land.
Visualizing pillars of red energy, he lifted first one stone into place, balancing it to where it needed to remain until he’d placed the keystone. Keeping that stone in place, he lifted the next. With quavering strength, he lifted a third and glanced at the fourth. With a deep breath, he lifted the fourth stone, the final except the keystone.
The stone grew heavier than the other three combined, as he pushed his will, draining his own strength. With nail-biting precision, it settled into place amongst its brethren.
One more stone to place. One more effort of will and magic, and he could rest.
Conall closed his eyes, prayed for luck and skill, and lifted the final stone.
At first, it wouldn’t budge. This stone was the most elaborate of them all, with filigree decorations climbing up around the top and into a translucent, swirling point. The bottom of it had to fit exactly into the beautifully chaotic, entwined shapes of the block below it. One mistake, and the entire construction would fall and shatter.
Bracing himself by placing one hand against the tree at his back, and the other once again gripping the brooch so tight it drew blood, Conall tried again, careful to keep the four stones in place as the keystone crept up, up, up to the pinnacle of the marble arch.
When he judged the stone to be in the right place, he lowered it into its spot, careful and delicate with his magic.
The keystone clicked, and with gentle, feather touches, Conall removed the glowing red energy supports on each of the other stones. One by one, the red light faded away, leaving his final creation. He held his breath for several moments before he dared to let it go.
When the arch remained, he sank to the ground, sweat streaming down his forehead. He laughed and cried at his own success, wiping his face and trying to see through sweat-blinded eyes.
“I did it. I did it! I did it!” He rose on shaky legs and pranced around, flailing his arms like an idiot. He stayed well away from any of the columns, but he needed an outlet. All his worry about Lainn, the project, his own impending doom should he make a mistake, came rushing out in a surge of relief.
After far too long running around like a madman, he took a deep breath and surveyed the site. Though he cleaned after each day’s work, the current space was littered with chips, stone dust, and his tools. Five blocks lay to one side—extras in case he broke one. He’d needed none of the additional blocks. That in itself seemed worthy of celebration.
With giddy energy, he cleaned the stone dust away with a flick of magic. This project had helped him practice with the brooch’s power, honing his control and strength. Despite his enormous effort with the stones, he had enough left to arrange his tools onto the piece of leather to store them. He rolled them into a bundle, tying them with the leather strap.
Once the area looked clean and presentable, he took a deep breath and stood back from the center of the glade. He still needed to find someone to help with the living vines, but his portion of the creation was complete. “I am finished, my Queen.”
The light dimmed again, but this time he shut his eyes to guard against her brilliant entrance light. Even through his eyelids, he saw the bright white glow of the Queen’s arrival.
Today her hair shone darker than before, almost brown-black with glints of green. Her skin, rather than dusky red, seemed closer to pale human flesh. Her eyes still flashed red, and Conall braced himself for her opinion on his creation.
She examined the construction in minute detail, running her long, elegant fingers along the relief carvings of flowers, birds, and vines. Her eyes traveled to the top, where eight branches combined into four arches, meeting at the central block. Her lips curved into another smile. Conall tried to shove back the instant terror her smile inspired, as he remembered it from their last encounter.
“You have pleased me with your art, human. I did not think you would.”
A wave of sweet relief swept through his body, almost as powerful as the sensation Ammatán had coaxed from him that one sweet night they shared. After the incredible physical and magical effort of the day, he had no strength left. Still, he had a duty still to complete.
“If it please you, my Queen, may I ask a boon for completing this project?”
She spun around, the locks of her hair hissing at him like so many serpents from Greek tales. Startled, he stepped back, the sheer panic returning five-fold. When she didn’t smite him for his temerity, he stammered out his request. “M-might you grant my sister her vision again?”
The Queen’s eyes bore into him, as they had before. He had no defense against such an assault, so he stood as still as possible, hoping he’d survive a second attack. Layer by layer, she peeled away his soul again. The agony in his mind screamed against the intrusion, urging him to flee with all speed away from the terror.
“No, human artisan. Still, you have performed admirably. I may consider the request.”
She clapped her hands, a sound which thundered across the glade and shook the stones of the new archway. He shut his eyes, certain she would destroy him on the spot instead. When doom didn’t come, he cracked one eye open.
The glade had disappeared. She had transported him back to Ammatán’s roundhouse.
Lainn sat in her normal spot, staring at the pond with sightless eyes.
He abandoned the grasp of tiny hope that the Queen had restored Lainn’s sight anyhow, and sat beside his sister in resigned silence.
* * *
The days passed with no regard to light or dark, and no purpose but misery and survival.
Every time he woke, Conall dressed and washed his sister, helped her relieve herself, made her eat, walked her around the pond, and tried to rouse her from her eternal apathy. Sawchaill tried to wake her with his cries and wings, to similar effect. Eventually, both stopped trying.
After about ten sleeps, after he fed her a morning meal, he took her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Wake up, Lainn! Enough is enough. You’ve got to live again. Losing your sight is tragic, yes, but it isn’t death. You are alive! You can sing, you can dance, you can run. You are more full of life than anyone I’ve ever met! Come back, Lainn!”
Sawchaill squawked agreement, and landed on her shoulder, nuzzling her neck.
Neither attempt elicited a response from the silent girl.
Conall dropped to his knees, hugging Lainn around her middle and clutching her tight. “Please, Lainn! I can’t do this without you. I can’t survive without you by my side! You’re all I have left. Please, please, come back to me!”
Still, no sound came from her lips, and her dead eyes stared at nothing.
“This is my doing, Lainn, and I don’t know how to fix it. I need your mind, your talent in puzzling out the way to make things right. We’re a team, Lainn, and I need you! I need your bright smile and sweet voice. I need your joy and your optimism. I love you! Come back!”
The tears falling un
bidden down Conall’s cheeks, he continued to hold her, rocking back and forth with no solution in mind.
When he’d exhausted himself with sorrow and grief, he stood and washed the salty tears from his face. He led his sister around the pond as he’d done so many times before, and knew he’d do so many times hence.
* * *
When Ammatán returned, many sleeps later, he found them sitting cross-legged, gazing out at the pond. He scanned the still water to determine what they saw, but nothing moved. Not even a festiwing flew across their path.
The Fae crouched next to Conall, his hand upon his lover’s shoulder. “Conall? What’s happened? Lainn?”
Sawchaill cawed from the roundhouse and winged out. Ammatán held his hand up for the raven to land upon. Instead of landing on the proffered perch, however, Sawchaill winged to a halt and settled on Lainn’s shoulder.
A dark cloud crossed Ammatán’s worried face. A cruel laugh behind him made Conall turn with dull eyes to his friend.
Bodach stood behind Ammatán, holding his side from the laughter. Ammatán turned to the other Fae, thunder in his eyes. He hissed, “Be quiet, fool! Can’t you see something tragic has occurred here?”
With a gasp for breath, Bodach pointed a gnarled finger at Ammatán. “Ho! The only tragedy I see is your raven has changed masters!”
Steel crept into Ammatán’s voice. “Begone, Bodach. We’ve completed our mission, and I require privacy.”
Ammatán turned his back on the other Fae, whose chuckles faded away as he left. Once again, he placed his hand on Conall’s shoulder. His focus on the pond broken, Conall’s eyes were raw and gritty. He must have been staring too long.
In the time since he’d completed the job for the Faerie Queen, he’d had no tasks, no project, and no purpose. Each day, he sat next to his sister as she watched nothing on the pond. Each day, he slipped farther and farther into a depressive slump, with no interest in anything but watching, eating, and sleeping. He dressed, fed, and washed his sister upon waking and before sleeping. Sawchaill sometimes communicated needs or desires with him, and they both tried to coax Lainn from her stupor, but neither had any success.
Eventually, they had both stopped trying.
Now that Ammatán had returned, Conall’s world had shifted. No longer did he live in an endless cycle of ennui and tedium. His lover had returned.
Ammatán’s anger faded and his face reflected pity and concern. “You need care, my love. Come, let me help you up.”
With gentle hands, the Fae lifted Conall to his feet. Together, they made Lainn stand. They led her to the roundhouse, to sit on the low bench near the table.
Waving his hand in front of Lainn’s eyes with no reaction, Ammatán glanced at Conall for an explanation. “How long has she been like this? How did it happen?”
Conall hung his head, mortified at the need to recount the events. “It’s all my fault.”
Ammatán placed his hand on Conall’s chin, forcing him to look up. “What’s your fault? Conall, what happened? I can smell the Queen’s magic upon her.”
Conall nodded, batting away Ammatán’s hand. “I fell asleep while working the stone. The Queen came and bore into my memory, or my mind, or something. She found what could hurt me most. Hurting Lainn.”
Ammatán’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Lainn, with Sawchaill still on her shoulder. He took a deep breath and let it out again. “This is something I might heal. May I try?”
The glimmer of hope that blossomed within Conall’s heart forced him to smile, and the light in Ammatán’s eyes when he saw that smile made the very air around them brighten.
“I may need help, but I have worked similar magic before. We must prepare. Will you assist me?”
Conall nodded, glancing at his sister. “Did you hear him, Lainn? We might restore your sight! Ammatán wants to try!”
She betrayed no reaction, but Sawchaill cawed and fluttered his wings, gazing mournfully at her eyes.
With a thoughtful expression, Ammatán tapped his chin. “I’ll need supplies. There’s a special plant that grows in the Westlands which just might help. It isn’t certain, but it’s a chance. Unfortunately, the only Fae who knows where it grows is Bodach.”
“The Fae you returned with? Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because I’d need to ask him a favor, and he’s cruel and demanding with his favors. Many evil stories of our kind in the human world stem from the games he plays for prurient pleasure.”
Conall swallowed, knowing some of those stories, and the fate of those who dealt with the Fae. Most humans did not fare well in such encounters. Other than a simple death, a human might get a club foot, a hump on their back, or cursed luck onto seven generations. It all depended on the whim of the Fae.
After remembering Bodach’s harsh mocking earlier, he didn’t relish the thought of Ammatán dealing with the malicious creature. Still, if they engineered Lainn’s sight restoration, and Ammatán wanted to pay such a price, Conall would do whatever he needed.
“I’ve missed you so much, Ammatán. I had no idea what I might do about Lainn.”
With a sad smile, Ammatán held his lover’s hand, caressing the top with feather-light touches. “We’ll find a way. You don’t mind if I help?”
“Of course not. She’s my sister.”
A flash of inscrutable emotion swept across Ammatán’s face as he glanced to Sawchaill on Lainn’s shoulder. “And you love her. As you should. She’s a sweet child, and if she were my sister, I would do the same. What else can I do for my love than help those you hold dear?”
Conall’s voice choked with emotion and tears, and he squeezed Ammatán’s hand, brushing at his own eyes with the other.
Ammatán bent to kiss the tears away, an action which made Conall’s spine shiver with desire and anticipation. “As much as I hunger to spend time together after my travels, I think our reunion should wait until we can heal Lainn. Will you forgive me for the delay?”
The Fae rose, glancing around the roundhouse. Empty bowls and cups lay near the wash basin, and the sleeping alcoves were in similar disarray. Conall experienced a surge of shame for his own laziness and indolence. “I’ll clean up while you’re gone, I promise. I’m sorry to have taken such poor care of your home.”
With a half-smile, Ammatán shook his head. “All I care is that you are alive and well. For you to be well, we must ensure your sister is well. I should return after a few sleeps, my dear.”
When Conall looked up again, his Fae love had vanished.
With a sigh and a groan at unused muscles, Conall pushed himself up from the table and, with the cautious creak of renewed hope, cleaned the roundhouse. He washed the dishes, stacked them on the shelves, and shook out the blankets on the cots. He offered Sawchaill some chopped turnip as he prepared the evening meal, but the raven turned his nose up at the meager offering. With a low chuckle, he instead gave the raven dried fish, which the bird accepted. Lainn still sat on the bench, her hands clasped in her lap, staring forward at nothing.
Had he dreamt Ammatán’s return? Conall didn’t know how many human days the Fae had been gone, and he’d had dreams of his lover’s return many times. How could he tell if this one was true?
“Sawchaill, did Ammatán return? Or did I dream it?”
The raven nodded, marking in the ground the symbol which meant ‘truth’. Conall’s relief broke into a wide smile, and he gave Sawchaill more fish. “For a moment, I thought I’d gone mad, Sawchaill.”
A deep, sardonic voice from the doorway said, “Don’t eliminate that possibility just yet, human child.”
Whirling around to face the intruder, Conall experienced both relief and trepidation to recognize Bodach. He inched toward his cot and surreptitiously palmed the ancient bronze knife. “Ammatán went to find you.”
The dark Fae nodded, his mottled brown skin shifting in the light like the bark of a tree. “He found me. I gave him directions for the plants he seeks. However, I thought about h
is problem, and I don’t believe I’d need such an ingredient to affect the change he needs.”
Cold gripped Conall’s heart, and he stepped closer to the door, positioning himself between Bodach and Lainn. Sawchaill cawed and moved back to his perch on her shoulder, a menacing glint in his black eyes.
“I’d rather wait until Ammatán returns. He’ll know best.”
With languorous steps, the dark Fae walked around the edge of the roundhouse, but Conall matched his pace, still keeping himself between the Fae and Lainn. The hilt of the bronze blade grew warm in his palm. “Oh, but he has such little experience in transforming humans. Besides, he owes me a favor after this last mission. I have performed many such magics in my life, child. I can puzzle out what the Queen has done. Just a little concentration and I can reverse the curse, if you will just allow me.”
Still, he circled, spiraling in so he came closer to the central table. Conall’s breath came faster, his fingers tingling with the need to act. He drew upon his brooch’s power, ready to wield it in defense of his sister if needed. He didn’t know if the power would be sufficient against this Fae, but he would damn well do his best. Would the knife or the magic be more damaging? Would either work at all?
“Such a tame little bird you have there, human girl. May I pet him?”
Conall had never heard the raven hiss before, but the harsh sound warned Bodach he wouldn’t tolerate the Fae’s touch. A quick peck with his beak made Bodach withdraw his hand. “Foul creature! As if I desired such a moulty pest.”
Conall tried to get between them again, but Bodach would not back away. Pulling on his power, Conall pushed against the Fae, but his bulk and strength remained obdurate.
“Come now, all it takes is one touch of my fingers. I will not harm your dear sibling in the slightest. Would you not like her to see all the wonders of the world again? Would you make the decision that doomed her to the darkness for her entire life? If Ammatán cannot make this magic work, you will doom her to darkness forever, you know.”
Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7 Page 19